Destiny in Cinders

In one of his deepest dreams, An Jing found himself walking along a hazy alley. He saw a really familiar dojo ahead of him.

He recalled that he practiced martial arts with a fervent passion during his past life, all the way from the chaotic times till peace returned to the world as it developed from a wasteland into a land of prosperity. Even until his death, he had never stopped pining for the peak of martial arts.

Reliving the youthful and passionate memories felt like peeling layers off an onion. Most people would subconsciously tear up, unwilling to behold the glory of days past, but An Jing faced all of them directly. Perhaps he had never felt guilty about those dreams. Perhaps his spirit stayed young and vigorous even up to his death.

He followed the twisting path of dreams to the building, looking at the aged sign that read "Qiao Clan Dojo." He had spent many days and nights across many years there on the thoroughly sun-baked ground, swinging his fists per his instructor's guidance and standing straight and firm like a pine tree.

It's too bad, Jing Xuan. If only you had a healthier body, you would...

After the training, he spent most of his life as a soldier, going from one harsh battlefield to another. Yet, the deepest impressions that remained with An Jing from that time weren't the sensations of his sweat-drenched body, the battlefield slaughter or the smoke and blood. Instead, they were his master's sighs and the pain that originated from deep within his innards.

The dojo vanished. Far at the horizon was a red sun. In the distance was a wheelchair in which a big-boned, shriveled-up man with a full head of white hair sat. He didn't appear old, just malnourished. For some reason, the man who needed a wheelchair gradually rose until he stood with his back facing An Jing. He got into a stance and began to practice his martial forms.

They were merely rote forms, yet An Jing could feel a profound might coming from the rhythmic movements. When the man unleashed his final punch, the clouds in the sky appeared to ignite. The water of the sea roiled violently. The ground and mountains appeared to shake.

Once the punch was unleashed, all the signs of power vanished as if they were mere hallucinations. It had been nothing more than a sick man's attempt at martial arts. Any normal person would be able to learn and execute those movements quickly.

The man had thrown his final punch. His sickness reached its peak, far beyond the help of any treatment. This man who walked the martial path ended up dying in that world, one that was void of miracles. He had no lingering attachments. His friends and fellow disciples were by his side. He had done his utmost to resist his destiny of death, surviving even the harshest of battles. Yet, at the very end, there was no miracle. The life he lived was by no means a failure.

If the legends about reincarnation and future lives were true, he wouldn't mind living another time. All he cared about was that the person he would become, the person who would end up becoming someone who was not him, would persist in the things that he cared about: martial arts and resistance. The threads of struggle had been woven into his destiny since his past life!

The dojo and horizon with the setting sun vanished completely. An Jing's dream faded into oblivion. Within it, a doubt surfaced. Do I love martial arts? What is it to me?

"A tool of resistance."

The human body was far too fragile for the ills of the world, whether they be rainstorms, earthquakes, frostbites, wars, incurable diseases or the plain malice of the masses. The only option after encountering those maladies was running away.

But if humans had tools and wisdom, if they were able to strengthen themselves with martial techniques, they would be able to resist those ills, disasters, human nations, societies, the world order, and even the majority.

Whether it be the divine or demonic cult, Grand Chen or natural disasters, monsters or aberrations, or even destiny and the world, the concept of truth itself, I shall resist all of it.

"Is that why the martial path is a tool?" An Jing asked.

"The martial path can be a mere tool to strengthen oneself," said a voice.

"The martial path can be a mere manifestation of conflict," said a voice.

"The martial path can be a means to improve the self and one's environment," said a voice.

"The martial path can allow you to uncover more hidden truths," said a voice.

Those all sound well and good, but to me... The martial path...

"The martial path is the power to resist."

The power to resist tyranny, overturn the evils of the world, the right to refuse when others exert their will over me. Nobody and nothing will be able to affect me. No disaster, natural or man made, not even destiny or fate will sway me.

In his dream, An Jing took a step forward, gripping his fist and his sword tight.

He awoke from his dream and mustered his vigor, causing a physical weapon of blood lethal qi to appear. The scorching blade melted away the ice and frost in front of him and opened up a hole that led to the outside world. He stepped out from the snow, steam wafting off his body.

He had been in a cave that was filled up with snow, mostly sealed shut apart from a few tiny holes that let air through. The temperature within the cave was something that martialists were able to get acclimated to. Even so, that didn't stop An Jing's lashes from being caked in fine ice crystals.

"It's still so cold out here." After killing the vilespawn fiend and making his way toward Keensight, An Jing hid himself within the nameless cave near the city. He did so as a precaution, clearly aware of the Heavenly Demon Cult's extensive influence in the northwestern regions. Even if the officials of the city were on Grand Chen's side, who knew how many secret cultists there were among their ranks? Perhaps the adept that defended Keensight was also a cultist!

Since he escaped the cult's pursuit, he kept a low profile and remained in the wilderness, hiding within the cave to craft a good disguise for himself before he entered the city. As he was able to travel to Skysource to buy food and supplies, it wasn't really an issue, especially when a can of meat could last him a month with little to no preparation other than melting some snow to rehydrate the meat.

Disguising himself wasn't that difficult either. He already managed to change his spirit signature in Skysource to fool the sensors. Not to mention, he could also radiate a completely different air by converting his lifearc's blood lethal qi using Evenstar Ivory Divine Seal, allowing him to transform from a youth who had killed countless people into a stunningly handsome young man. Coupled with the ancient roleplaying costume he bought in Skysource that he altered to not look out of place in Void Embrace, he should be able to present himself as a fairly well-off young scion from a faraway land.

While in Skysource, An Jing slipped out of the city by masking his spirit signature. He didn't seek out his acquaintances immediately and instead used his city pass to gain entry to some of the smaller settlements across Mortality Plains to collect information about Deepnight City as well as the aftermath of the black-market incident.

It was said that not all the staff of Xuandu's black market ended up captured during the Skywatch Bureau's raid. Sage Clearwater of the Xuandu Group had managed to save a few core members and lucky customers and proprietors, extracting them from Deepnight City. Having obtained evidence and witnesses, the Xuandu Group entered an intense negotiation with the hegemon of Deepnight City, the Luofu Group.